


Help Me See Myself Clearer

by Myth979



Series: Another Cause for Me to Fight [2]
Category: Wheel of Time - Robert Jordan
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, kidfic on a technicality sometimes?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-17
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-11-15 03:36:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11222484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myth979/pseuds/Myth979
Summary: Outtakes and/or related bits to For All the Perfect Things That I Doubt. I promise to label and explain the chapters.





	1. I Thought I Saw the Devil This Morning

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter was a possible alternate ending but I ended up going for the final epilogue. I love badass Moiraine more than I love most things, and I kind of wanted to explore the Eelfinn/Aelfinn a little more, but in the end I thought maybe sort-of-mystery was better. Also Moiraine has already accepted her title by the end of For All The Perfect Things That I Doubt, so it seemed a little redundant for her to do so again.

It is a dream, Moiraine knows. She also knows that dreams are sometimes real.

“You called us,” the Eelfinn says.

“Did I?” she asks.

“What payment do you offer?” it asks, and she hears the echo of two more voices. She does not need to look to know more have appeared behind her.

Moiraine considers. What price, to keep Egwene safe? Anything, really. She can’t think of anything she wouldn’t offer.

“Speak quickly, human,” the first Eelfinn says. “What price for your child’s eternal wellbeing?”

It is interesting, she thinks. The Eelfinn either does not know or does not care that Nynaeve gave birth to Egwene - but then, Egwene is Moiraine’s too, and she always has been, and the Eelfinn operate on how the world  _ is _ and not how others necessarily perceive it.

It doesn’t matter either way.

“That isn’t how this works,” Moiraine says, and smiles when the Eelfinn blinks at her. 

Her own foxes prowl a circle around the three Eelfinn and Moiraine. She feels her snake curl possessively around her ankle.

The Eelfinn flinch away from the foxes. 

“The last time I visited,” Moiraine says, “You took far more from me than we bargained.”

Her snake pokes its head from beneath her skirt and bares its fangs, hissing. The Eelfinn eye it with distaste, but only briefly: they are too focused on the foxes, who have begun to glow.

“I forgot to set the terms of my departure,” Moiraine continues, holding her hand down. Her snake wends its way up the outside of her dress until it can wrap itself around her wrist, and from there work up to her shoulders. “I realize that was foolish, and so you could keep me - but we did not agree to any of the rest.”

“You escaped,” the talkative Eelfinn hisses at her. “And you  _ stole _ these!”

“I bought them,” Moiraine says. “With all those memories you rifled through, all those feelings you fed on, all my talent you stole.”

She waits until the Eelfinn look at her instead of her foxes. Fire and iron, they feared? She has brought both. 

“I bought something else, too,” she tells them, and  _ wishes _ . The door to her left opens, back to her room in Malkier. She can see herself asleep, curled up against Nynaeve, Lan’s arm slung over both of them as if he is afraid they will disappear if he doesn’t touch them. Egwene is only two rooms over, she knows, and will wake Moiraine, Nynaeve, and Lan at first light, unless she decides she wants Thom to tell her a story first. 

“Don’t bother me again,” she orders, and turns to leave.

“You are one of us now, Moiraine Damodred  _ Aes Sedai _ ,” the Eelfinn call after her in eerie three-part harmony. They even stress her title the same way, disgust dripping from every syllable. “How long until you heed the call?”

Moiraine stops and looks over her shoulder. “You’d best hope I never do,” she says. “And it is El’Moiraine to you.”

She steps through the door, and it closes. She sleeps peacefully until Egwene throws herself onto the bed.


	2. Is That My Lion's Pride

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pre birth of Egwene Mandragoran. Moiraine and Lan and Nynaeve are pretty comfortable with their relationship between the three of them, but sometimes jerks show up.
> 
> AKA, Moiraine is not a fan of Logain.

Nynaeve is bored. Moiraine can see it in the set of her shoulders and the way she shuffles the papers in front of her. It isn’t boredom that makes Nynaeve yawn, though. She has held up remarkably: Moiraine is bored near to tears, and Moiraine has much more experience with this sort of thing.

Lan is actually asleep. It’s an old soldiers’ trick, he has told her, sleeping with his eyes open. All three of them are always tired these days. She kicks him in the foot and feels him wake up in her mind, though he shows no outward sign.

Across the table, Logain gives them a look. Moiraine returns it levelly - he’s embracing the source or he wouldn’t have been able to hear. Also, she can feel it. Gabrelle frowns at her and shifts as if to protect Logain. Nynaeve sniffs loudly, and Lan feels watchful, though Moiraine keeps her stare on Logain. Thom leans conspicuously against the back of Nynaeve’s chair.

She knows, rationally, that Logain will not do anything to break the Dragon’s Peace, and that he has reason to be grateful to Nynaeve even without that, but Logain still declared himself the Dragon, once, and might have believed it, and he is embracing the source now. Moiraine can’t help but think of him as a threat.

Logain’s eyes flick to Nynaeve, just for a moment, and back to Moiraine. Moiraine puts every ounce of threat she can into the glare, every reminder possible that she is a woman who has killed two forsaken and faced the dark one himself.

Logain’s mouth quirks and he releases the source. Moiraine makes herself relax, and they all turn back to the never-ending opening speeches of the summit.

 

* * *

 

 

Moiraine hears him come up behind her, as does Thom, and so does not jump when Logain says, “I meant no harm with  _ saidin _ .”

She turns to face him slowly. He regards her, head cocked, for once without Gabrelle at his side.

“Though how you knew I even embraced it is a curiosity,” he continues. “Did Nynaeve tell you, with her  _ ter’angreal _ ?”

“No,” Moiraine replies.

He waits. So does she. Thom, by how he feels, should be laughing aloud: how he keeps a straight face while containing that much mirth is a mystery.

Logain is no Cadsuane, so she out waits him. “Do  _ you _ have a  _ ter’angreal _ ?”

“One or two,” she says.

He snorts, not unlike Nynaeve when Moiraine is being particularly evasive, and turns to watch the other rulers and equivalents and entourages milling about in the halls of Caemlyn. Nynaeve and Elayne are laughing about something. Aviendha, standing beside them, catches Moiraine’s eye and shrugs.

Lan listens very seriously to Berelain in a far corner. It is comical, seeing her stand nearly on tiptoe to stress whatever point she is making, but Lan doesn’t feel amused, only interested in what she’s saying. He has always been like that, even when he and Moiraine first met - he might not have believed her to be Aes Sedai, but he had still listened when she spoke. Lan has never treated her like a pretty little porcelain doll, as some others do even now.

Logain is watching her when she returns her gaze to him. He looks almost confused. “I know Aes Sedai have feelings,” he says slowly. “Gabrelle, for instance, since I’m in her head. Nynaeve has feelings  _ everywhere _ . I’ve never seen you show anything.”

“You’ve never seen Lan show feelings,” Moiraine says. “You don’t doubt he has them.”

The laugh she gets in response is irritating. Lan looks over, but she does her best to calm down.

“Lan shows plenty of feelings,” Logain says when he’s done laughing. “You just have to prod him correctly.”

She doesn’t do anything foolish like drawing herself up. She already has perfect posture: straining any farther upwards would send her to her toes, like Berelain. Instead she makes her voice as cool as possible, frozen even, and replies, “And what right have you to  _ prod _ my-”

The stumble when she realizes she probably shouldn’t say  _ my warder _ and cannot technically say  _ my husband _ makes Logain’s eyes gleam.  _ My king _ would be just as damning - Aes Sedai don’t have kings, except in circumstances like Nynaeve’s. Thom is starting to feel tetchy.

“I thought married women wore red, in Malkier,” Logain says, touching his forehead where her blue-stoned  _ kesiera _ rests and Nynaeve’s red  _ ki’sain _ is painted.

Moiraine has had enough. She goes on the offensive. “Why do you dislike me?”

“You are Aes Sedai,” Logain replies easily, “and you are more Aes Sedai than most, for all you’re playing at Malkieri loyalist.”

“I am not playing,” she says. “Perhaps a man who  _ played _ at being the Dragon Reborn wouldn’t understand.”

He jerks back, as if she has actually hit him. 

“Perhaps,” she continues, ignoring Thom’s caution, “you dislike me not because I am Aes Sedai but because I found Rand.”

Logain has regained his arrogance, though Gabrelle is wending her way through the crowd, giving the lie to his face, when he says, “Well, why not?If you had found me first, Moiraine - would I have been the Dragon Reborn then?”

It is Moiraine’s turn to laugh. She knows it is unpleasant. “You’re asking if I would have chosen you to save the world if I could?”

He shrugs, and she considers. She did not choose the Dragon Reborn, obviously. Rand was reborn on his own, prophecy fulfilled and legacy secured. But would she have, if she had known everything that would happen?

Logain is not a bad person, she knows, but he is not entirely a good person, either. He is a regular person with great power, who had to be encouraged to think of others even at the end. She knows how Gabrelle has influenced him, and she sees the good that has come of it, but…

Rand would have saved those refugees, she thinks. Rand would have saved them with or without his lover convincing him.

She answers as honestly as she can, “I would have chosen you to die, for the world. But you would never have saved it at the cost of your own well being.”

Not like Rand with his list. Not like Rand, who had been so happy to see her alive. Not like Rand, who was always willing even if he was sometimes bitter.

She says, “I would have chosen you, to save Rand.”

Logain has nothing to say to that. Moiraine leaves him to Gabrelle, and takes herself off to find her family.


	3. I Never Meant to Start a Fire (I never meant to make you burn)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Self indulgence at its finest. Probably the end of The Lake Saga, and takes place a few months after the end of For All the Perfect Things That I Doubt, though significantly before the epilogue.

The lake is, as Nynaeve says, a mudpit at the moment. Moiraine glares down at it.

“How did you  _ do _ it?” Moshein asks. She wouldn’t if any of their people were around them, but the soldiers have given them space, and Thom is back at the palace mostly by dint of Moiraine not mentioning where she was going. He feels vaguely irritated.

“I’ve learned all sorts of things in my travels,” Moiraine says. “This one I could probably have lived without.”

She doesn’t see any way around it. With a deep sigh, she starts making her skidding way down the muddy bank to the muddy, ashy water.  _ Someone _ has to make sure it isn’t still blighted, and she isn’t going to make Moshein do it.

The third time her feet skid and deposit her on her rear, she wishes she made Moshein do it. Nynaeve is going to skin Moiraine alive for doing this on her own, though she’ll say it is for ruining another dress. Too late now.

She stops just clear of the water and kneels, cutting her eyes to her left, where a little grey-brown snake has snuck close to her knee. 

“Your thoughts?” she asks dryly.

The snake flicks its tongue at her and slithers into the water. Moiraine takes it as an all-clear to cup her hands and bring up some water to examine closely.

It isn’t blighted, she notes with relief, just dirty. She lets it flow through her fingers and looks to her right, where a fox sits with its ears pricked forward, looking at the collected water from her rainstorm.

“I don’t suppose you know a way to clean this faster, do you?”

The fox looks at her. Moiraine frowns at it.

“Did you ask me something?” Moshein calls.

“No!” Moiraine calls back, and looks back at the water. She could do more Cloud Dancing, obviously, and bring more rain, but there would still be mud everywhere and possibly more, depending on the elevation and how far her rain would stretch. Malkier also has truly productive farms for the first time this year, with maybe enough to trade  _ and _ feed themselves, and she doesn’t want to ruin any of the harvest by changing the weather patterns around.

In her walk through the pillars El’Helane had wished, Moiraine remembers, and Helane was supposed to be her descendant. Moiraine has done similar things, she supposes, which is how this lake is in its current state in the first place.

What if she decides to do something different? She had known, as Helane, that the line of El’Nynaeve had the healing talents, the nurturing and growing, and that she, Helane, had different talents as one of the line of Moiraine herself.

But, Moiraine wonders, had that other version of herself ever  _ tried _ healing and nurturing and growing? She has the Talent, and she has cloud dancing too.

She puts her hands back in the water, the fox still watching her, and she feels the snake twine around her fingers in a friendly way, and she thinks of the Thousand Lakes as she has read about them, as Moshein has told her of them, as she wants them to be.

“I would like this to be clean, please,” she whispers, and feels the tug inside of her.

It is gentler than the fire was, but it is perhaps stronger too. She can liken it only to  _ saidar _ , as  _ saidar _ was explained to her: a slow-moving river, large and inexorable, whose current you cannot fight but only move within.

The water around her hands begins to clear, and the water farther out, and the water farther out than that, and it is only when she begins to feel smug about the water being clear all the way around her to her heels that she realizes the water is rising.

Lan and Nynaeve are  _ both _ going to kill her. Thom will probably help.

* * *

 

 

It is Lan that Moiraine wakes up to. He is cradling her in his arms, but unlike the last time he did so - two days ago, she was pretending to stalk out in a huff and laughed when he scooped her up and dumped her on the couch next to Nynaeve, who promptly distracted Moiraine with kisses -  he is not smiling. Something tugs at her hair.

“Are you aware, Moiraine Sedai,” he says very properly, “that you were floating?”

She supposes that explains why he is dripping wet.

“I wasn’t aware,” she replies. The tugging on her hair is from where it floats around her head in the water, she realizes. It is going to be terrible to brush.

“Is she alright?” Moshein calls. Moiraine turns her head to see the older Aes Sedai up to her knees in water several feet away, holding onto Thom’s arm. Thom feels just as vaguely irritated as before.

“She seems to be,” Lan calls back, and, more quietly to Moiraine, “Aside from woolheadedness.”

“You stole that from Nynaeve,” Moiraine says. “Tell me, do you enjoy lifting me out of ponds?”

The corner of his lip twitches in spite of himself. “This is a  _ lake _ .”

“And a very nice one now.” It has not escaped her notice that the water is crystal clear. Nor has it escaped her notice that the lake appears to be full.

He stomps to dry land with what she considers unnecessary vigor. Soldiers part before him, though she notices some bow with eyes averted, which means they are bowing to a woman, which means they are bowing to her.

She cleaned a lake, she thinks. Anybody would have done it, given the chance.

Nobody else seems to have had the chance, though.

“Al’Lan,” one man murmurs, nodding to Lan, but the next says, “El’Moiraine,” and ducks his head in awkward respect to her.

She mostly used to the address now, but it never fails to warm her just a little. She does her best to sit up in Lan’s arms, trying to appear more dignified for their subjects, and nods every so often.

Nynaeve waits in the travelling area, arms crossed and foot tapping. It made sense: Nynaeve probably opened a gateway the moment Lan burst into the room in his dramatic fashion and told her Moiraine was unconscious. It is a testament to how quickly Lan ran to the lake that Nynaeve wasn’t there to help pull her out, probably.

“I thought we told you to stop doing that,” Nynaeve says.

“I just wanted a clean lake,” Moiraine says, knowing she sounds plaintive. Nynaeve flicks her fingers, drying Moiraine and Lan, and opens another gateway.

“Moshein can handle anything else that happens,” Nynaeve says, cutting off Moiraine’s token protest. “You’re coming home and getting warm. Actually warm, none of that Aes Sedai temperature ignoring nonsense.”

Moiraine is comfortably warm as she is, being held by Lan, but she recognizes that Nynaeve won’t let up until she is satisfied that Moiraine is unharmed. The easiest way to do that is to go home and let her fuss.

Token protests are expected, though, or Nynaeve will believe actual injury has occurred. “Nynaeve, I’m fine. I can finish up here.”

“No,” Nynaeve says briskly. “Moshein, we’re taking her home.”

Moshein, behind Lan, says dryly, “It does sound that way, El’Nynaeve.”

Moiraine subsides, and Lan carries her back home.


	4. I'll Love the World Like I Should

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Look I just wanted them married is that so bad? Cheese abounds.

Moiraine considers the logistics as she absentmindedly checks over the palace accounts. Naming ceremonies are important in Malkier, she knows that much, and the expenses of that…

She makes a note to draw from her accounts in Tar Valon the next time she visits. She thinks Lan knows that she supplements Malkieri ceremonial costs with her own (extensive) income, but Nynaeve might fuss. If Nynaeve ever looked over the accounts she might have been upset earlier: Moiraine has not been subtle. 

Nynaeve is pregnant. She can put up with some extra fussing and Moiraine taking care of a few minor details, however expensive those minor details might be. Moiraine finishes tallying grain as Lan comes into the room.

“You’re worried,” he says. “I feel it, and Thom went out with Moshein to avoid it.”

“Obviously,” Moiraine retorts.Thom and Moshein act more like a warder pair than she and Thom do, these days. Moiraine refuses to give him up gracefully.

She moves on to the cost of linens. She will not authorize buying Cairheinin cloth. Malkieri weavers need the support, and anyone who doesn’t like it can sleep somewhere outside her country. She crosses out the shatayan’s figures and writes in her own, with strict instructions. 

Della will tsk, but who was it who was - Moiraine stops that thought. She is something more than Aes Sedai advisor, but she is also not a queen, technically, no matter how many people call her El’Moiraine. She and Lan aren’t married. She and Nynaeve aren’t either. 

Who was it who was in charge of the accounts, these days? she can ask Della, and Della will sniff but always seems reassured, possibly because the staff is under the impression that Nynaeve will turn her wrath on them if she is required to deal with the accounts.

Nynaeve’s temper will probably be worse in the next six months or so. Moiraine considers giving Della bimonthly two day holidays.

“I’m not,” Lan says.

Moiraine snaps her head up to stare at him. “Why  _ not _ ?” she demands. “Nynaeve is carrying the future heir of Malkier and  _ our child _ , and she can’t always channel, and she’s tired  _ all the time _ , and even if we aren’t worried about her - which I am - there is always the plethora of diplomatic incidents that might ensue when someone says something stupid that I want to throw them into a wall for and Nynaeve  _ actually throws them into a wall _ .”

“Not if she can’t channel that day,” Lan points out, feeling amused, leaning indolently against the closed door.

Moiraine briefly considers murder.

“Nynaeve has us,” Lan says. “You can Heal her if anything goes wrong. We can protect her. And I can steer diplomats clear.”

“Pregnancy is terrifying,” Moiraine mutters, burying her face in her hands, unwilling to voice her other fear -  _ Al’Rand and his children are dead _ .

What will she do, if Nynaeve has a boy?

“Moiraine.”

She looks up again. Lan is watching her thoughtfully.

“You aren’t any more worried about diplomatic incidents today then you were months ago,” he says. “Why are you so afraid?”

_ I am going to kill them all.  _ She isn’t afraid of Nynaeve, or even entirely for Nynaeve, or Lan. She is afraid for the Malkier she saw, and she is afraid of herself.

“Secrets, Moiraine?” Lan asks lightly when she takes too long to respond, but his mind feels heavy, and it is focused entirely on her. He crosses his arms.

“Always secrets,” she says as lightly as he. “I am Aes Sedai.”

He nods, but he does not stop. “You are Aes Sedai still, Moiraine, but I thought you were a Malkieri queen, now, and not a Tower plaything.”

“I thought you knew me well enough to know I was never a Tower plaything,” she retorts, sitting straighter in her chair. She would be level with his shoulder if she used a footstool - maybe - so the effect is somewhat mitigated. Why is he so  _ tall?  _

“Then act like it,” he says infuriatingly mildly. He is doing it to annoy her, she knows: the bond shows tightly contained anger that edges into fear somewhere along the way. Fear of what, exactly? Not of her.

“I am to act how, then?” she demands. Just because she knows what he’s doing doesn’t mean it isn’t working. She wants to needle him back. “Like a Malkieri queen, which I am not? I am a servant of all, Lan, but I will serve Malkier the most. Leave me to serve, and leave me my secrets.”

Nynaeve would have snarled something and left the room to fume to Elayne, and probably come back later to try again. With Lan, Moiraine has the brief satisfaction of feeling his mind go blank for a moment before it begins settling into something she can best describe as calculation.

Moiraine eyes him suspiciously. His lip quirks to one side. She can feel him wanting to smile.

“Am I amusing to you?” she asks.

He shrugs, stepping away from the door and around the desk. “Often,” he admits, and leans down to press a quick kiss to her temple. “Keep your secrets, Moiraine. For now.”

“For now?” she demands as he turns and leaves. “I can feel you plotting, Lan!”

“Like an Aes Sedai?” he asks, and slips out the door before she can reply. She won’t chase after him, and he knows it.

* * *

 

It’s Nynaeve that wants to go out to the lake to try to follow the weaves Moiraine used to make it, which is why Moiraine isn’t suspicious. Nynaeve has done this at least four times. None of them have yielded anything more than frustration: Moiraine can’t describe it as anything other than wishing, and Nynaeve can’t pick up any residues. She doesn’t expect anything to come of it now, especially since Nynaeve can’t channel a wink today. Bullen assures them that he and Della can handle anything for a few hours, especially now that they have routine on their side.

She doesn’t even think anything odd about Moshein and Thom coming with them. Moshein herself is still fascinated by the lake, and doesn’t even have the benefit of Moiraine’s wishing explanation.

It is, therefore, more shocking than it should be to walk down from the Travelling ground to the lake and see Lan standing with Elayne and Aviendha.

Nynaeve ignores the sharp look Moiraine gives her and drags her to them.

Aviendha says, “There aren’t many people here to try to fight for the bride.”

“Don’t look at me,” Elayne says, when Moiraine does indeed look at her. “You know how Nynaeve is when she gets the bit in her teeth.”

“I am not a horse,” Nynaeve says with a sniff. “You’re the one who was on at us about making her an honest woman.”

“I’m always honest,” Moiraine says, unable to help herself. Aviendha cackles, and Lan feels amused.  _ Often,  _ he had said. Nynaeve elbows her in the ribs.

“Did you trick me out here for a secret marriage?” Moiraine demands, unlinking her arm with Nynaeve’s and putting her hands on her hips.

Elayne covers her mouth with a hand. Moiraine glares at her. She doesn’t need a warder bond to know the woman is trying not to laugh.

_ “Secret,”  _ Nynaeve mutters, hands on her own hips. “The queen of Andor is standing there, you think this is secret?”

“I certainly wasn’t asked,” Moiraine says, unsure why she’s arguing except that, well. She hasn’t been asked.

Lan looks at Nynaeve.

“We’re practically married already!” Nynaeve exclaims. “Forgive me for assuming we could make it official without any fuss!”

Lan looks back at Moiraine, who has to admit that Nynaeve has a point.

“Six witnesses,” she says. “There are supposed to be six.”

Aviendha shrugs, and sighs. “Wetlander customs. I’m already changing things, I suppose, for you and Nynaeve are not sisters-”

“Certainly not,” Nynaeve says with a sniff. Moiraine refuses to let her face make the expression it wants to.

“-why not wait for two more witnesses,” Aviendha finishes.

“I suppose I am to fetch these witnesses,” Elayne says. She sounds slightly put out, but she doesn’t wait for anyone to say anything before she opens a Gate and hops through.

“I think she’s excited,” Thom says, and Moiraine snorts - more delicately than Nynaeve, she hopes - and drags her partners to one side for a stern talking to.

“Don’t you be upset with me,” Nynaeve says when Moiraine opens her mouth. “It was Lan’s idea.”

Lan favors her with a look of betrayal. Moiraine can feel that he isn’t really upset, though. Not very. “My idea was the wedding,” he says very precisely. “Yours was the surprise, obviously, since it was a surprise to me that it was a surprise.”

“Did that make sense?” Nynaeve asks, squinting up at him.

“And still no one has  _ asked me,”  _ Moiraine says.

“In Malkier, the woman asks,” Lan says primly.  _ Amused.  _ Damn him. “I wouldn’t know how.”

They both look at Nynaeve, who glares. “Moiraine,” she bites out, “will you please end this  _ woolheaded nonsense  _ and bloody marry us?”

Moiraine smiles sweetly at her. “Of course, Nynaeve,” she replies. “There’s no need for vulgarity.”

Lan actually laughs.

* * *

 

“About bloody time,” Mat tells Lan. “You’ve had her up here how many years?”

“She had to bring Mat,” Nynaeve grumbles. “Of course she brought Mat.”

Elayne smiles serenely. “Well, he was visiting.”

Mat shakes his finger at Nynaeve. “Don’t think I don’t have words for you, too, Nynaeve. Luring the woman up here, letting everyone talk-”

Moiraine can’t tell if Mat is serious or just taking the opportunity to poke at Nynaeve. Nynaeve can’t seem to either.

Perrin says mildly, “Congratulations.”

“Thank you, Perrin,” Nynaeve replies, giving Mat a significant look. “One of you remembers your manners.”

“Of course,” Perrin continues, still mildly, “Faile was starting to say that it really wasn’t seemly, what you were doing with Moiraine. Something about toying with her affections. Hasn’t she dealt with enough?”

The king of Saldaea, though, is definitely poking at Nynaeve.

Nynaeve gapes at him, and then at Moiraine, who puts on her best innocent face. It isn’t very good, Moiraine knows: she has spent too long being expressionless to easily don innocence.

“At least it’s you in the delicate condition, Nynaeve,” Mat continues. “Really, I don’t think I could have countenanced Moiraine-”

“Thank you, Mat,” Moiraine says hastily, before Nynaeve throttles him, delicate condition and all. Lan is taking it all in good humor, but he does feel slightly guilty somewhere tucked away.

“Aviendha!” Nynaeve shouts, glaring mightily at Mat, and stalks away. Lan follows her, presumably to keep her and Elayne from shouting at each other over her shouting at Aviendha. Thom is laughing at something Elayne is saying, and Moshein is standing to one side, looking politely bemused.

Mat, Perrin, and Moiraine stand for a moment, watching their friends.

“I don’t think we did too badly, all told,” Perrin says. 

“Speak for yourself,” Mat retorts. “You’re only married to Faile. I’ve got Tuon, and light only knows how Lan is going to handle Nynaeve  _ and  _ Moiraine.”

“He has been,”Moiraine points out, keeping her face perfectly blank when both boys turn to look at her with vaguely scandalized expressions. “Sometimes I handle them.”

“I haven’t seen Aviendha in awhile,” Perrin says hastily, and makes his escape. Mat goes to follow, but she catches his arm.

“Thank you for saving me, Mat,” Moiraine says. “I haven’t said it enough.”

Mat scuffs his foot on the ground, the picture of embarrassed boyhood. “Thom would have anyway.”

“Maybe,” she says.

He nods, and looks back up at her. “I have some of you in here, you know,” he says, tapping his head with a finger. 

She nods, turning it over in her mind. She supposes it makes a sort of sense - he had to find her somehow, even with his luck. The Finn were masters of luck.

“All those generals and heroes,” Mat says, “and they put a little bit of you in here, too. I don’t know if it helps, with what they did, but I thought you’d want to know.”

“Thank you,” Moiraine says again.

“And, you know, I know you can handle yourself and all,” he continues, “but if Nynaeve tries to run you ragged - well,  _ I  _ won’t be any help, but I can set Elayne on her. She likes me these days.”

Moiraine, who knows full well that Mat will ride up in a high dudgeon if any of them are in any way run ragged by anyone - Nynaeve included on both sides - manages not to smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Right,” he says. “Well. Let’s get you married, shall we?”

“Let’s,” Moiraine agrees, and walks with him back to the others, where she does indeed get herself married.


End file.
